


Abyss

by benedictcumberlongpond, WrenAndPoppy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrenAndPoppy/pseuds/WrenAndPoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after “Here Lies The Abyss” and contains spoilers up to that point. </p><p>He almost saw her die.  A little alcohol and a lot of bottled-up sexual tension don’t go well with anger and grief.</p><p>Warnings: This is not healthy, good, or of clean consent.  These characters bring a lot of anger and impatience to the bedroom and almost no communication.  Also, they’re drunk.  Additional warnings for discussions of death and losing a friend, although there is no major character death in this story<br/>Collaboration with wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Another Collab with the incredible Wren, I hope you enjoy!

As a storyteller, Varric had written his share of climatic moments.  He wished he hadn’t _lived_ so many, wished he wasn’t living one right now as he stood in the sticky-cold miasma of the Fade.  This was the kind of thing that no one should have to touch outside of a novel.  As if the former Knight-Commander hadn’t been bad enough, bellowing pieties while buzzing with the maddening _thrum_ of that blasted red stuff, facing down Varric and all the people he loved the most with the intent to leave them in bloody pieces… 

… Hadn’t he survived enough climaxes?  Did he really need this one too, this towering nightmare-spider-demon- _thing,_ big as a damn mountain, oozing and twitching and clacking, creeping towards them on jointed legs the size of watchtowers?  Did he really need to be the first dwarf to lay eyes on the horrors of the Fade first-hand, standing flesh-and-bone amid the fire and the fangs of restless spirits and swollen nightmares?  The Fade was damn overrated, if you asked him.  He couldn’t say he’d miss the place once he was out.

The demon’s wet mandibles gnashed above them, dripping a thin fluid that hissed when it hit the rotting ground.  Its chitinous body was pockmarked with deep holes, and nestled inside each pit were – eyes? eggs? – _things_ that wriggled and twitched sickeningly.  The spider was bigger than anything Varric had faced – including three (fucking _three)_ dragons, the statues of Hightown, and the gelatinous bubbling form of Orsino’s blood-magic fueled body.

Too many climactic battles.  This had to be the last one.  Varric’s luck was going to run out at some point.

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud shouted.

Whether he meant around or _through_ the giant spider demon, Varric wasn’t sure. He shifted Bianca on his back, checking how many bolts he had left.  He hated to say it, but he didn’t like their odds.  The party was still exhausted from battling through the Fade.  They were out of potions, out of breath.  

As he stared up into the slick, spreading maw of the nightmare, Varric’s mind wandered, briefly, to the fate that would befall Thedas once the Herald of Andraste and her rag-tag team of idiots had been devoured by the embodiment of fear.

“Go.”  Hawke’s voice cut through Varric’s thoughts, her hands shifting on her staff.  “I’ll cover you.” 

It took a moment before the gears in Varric’s mind clicked and he realized what his friend had just said.  Something cold shot through his stomach, and before he realized he was speaking, a frantic “ _No!”_ burst out of him. 

Hawke’s pale eyes shot towards him, a warning for him to back off, fixing him in place with all the stubbornness that only she could muster.  Varric met her glare with the same intensity.  This wasn’t some group of bandits or pack of wolves that Hawke could _draw off_ the main group.  The twitching, clacking, dripping monstrosity that loomed above them was a death sentence, and there was no wayVarric was letting his best friend, his _idiot_ best friend throw herself against a fight that impossible.

Hawke’s eyes had left him, fixed on the massive demon once more.  She didn’t even look frightened, the brave fool.  Just determined.  And weary.  Varric tried to find the words to make her give this up, but his throat felt tight and the words wouldn’t come.

“No, you were right.”  Stroud seemed to have no problem speaking, which felt surreal to Varric.  “The Grey Wardens must – ”

“A Warden must help them rebuild, that’s _your_ job,” Hawke interrupted.  Her eyes narrowed as she stared the nightmare down.  “Corypheus is _mine._ ”

No.  Not her.  Not now.  Not in front of him.

A silence had fallen, a tension that got under Varric’s skin.  He realized that everyone was looking to Inquisitor Adaar, waiting for her orders.  Varric’s fists shook at his sides, words boiling up from his gut and screaming to escape, but his tongue was frozen.

_Don’t you dare let her stay, Inquisitor.  Don’t you dare.  Don’t you dare._

Inquisitor Adaar’s face was set in the determined mask she always wore in the field, but Varric could see the pain behind it.  He could see her eyes dart from Hawke to Stroud, and back to the monster.  He could see her realize there was no other way.

_Don’t do it.  Please.  I swear to Andraste, I’ll die with her if she stays, I won’t let her leave this world alone._

He’d fire Bianca until she was empty and then he’d fight the nightmare with his bare hands.

Something hardened passed over the Inquisitor’s face, and her jaw set.  It was almost as if Varric could see her setting the grief aside, prepared to deal with it later.  He couldn’t breathe.

_Don’t make me watch her die.  Please.  I love her._

“ … Stroud.”  Adaar’s voice was choked, but held the firmness of a commander.

Stroud nodded, straightening his spine with a resigned breath.  “It has been an honor, Inquisitor.”

Varric’s heart was pounding so hard it was making him dizzy.  _Not staying.  She’s not staying behind.  She’s safe._ He never thought he would feel this relieved to see another man sent to his death.  The thought sickened him.

As Stroud drew his weapon and charged towards the monster with a roar, there was no time for Varric to think about anything but chasing after the Inquisitor, escaping the Fade.  There was no time to think about what Hawke meant to him.

There was no time to think about how deeply it would cut him to lose her, or what that meant.

—-

Varric’s body felt wooden as they walked through the comfortingly solid stone of Adamant fortress.  His legs moved mechanically, his feet scuffing the filthy floor.  The ancient keep had been nearly destroyed by the battle, the floor littered with rubble and scorch marks and bodies.  But at least it was all real, all physical and constant.  At least it wasn’t the fucking Fade. 

The Inquisitor looked like she was getting ready to give one of her speeches, Hawke standing close by.  For a moment, all Varric could do was stare at her.  A wind was gusting through the remains of the fortress, making Hawke’s short dark hair swish around her face.  Even the way she folded her arms and shifted her weight from one leg onto the other was painfully familiar, painfully _Hawke._

And if she’d had her way, she wouldn’t be standing next to Varric right now.  He would have never seen that little shift of weight again.

Suddenly, Varric crossed the distance between them in a few thumping strides and grabbed Hawke’s arm.  When she turned and saw the look in his eyes, she nodded and followed him away from the Inquisitor and the gathered surviving forces.

Varric dragged her around the nearest corner, out of sight of the army.  Then he slammed her against the nearest wall hard enough to draw a startled grunt from her.

“What were you _thinking_?” he ground out in a barely-muted snarl.

Hawke cocked an eyebrow.  “I was thinking we start with rum to celebrate, then switch to ale.  Less likely to wind up covered in vomit that way.”

“Trying to sacrifice yourself to a damn _demon?”_

“Oh.  That?”

Varric bared his teeth at her, his hands still steel-hard on her arms, pinning them to the wall as he glared up at her.  “Yes, Hawke, _that.”_

Hawke frowned.  There was a chorus of passionate cheers from the courtyard, and Hawke glanced towards it instinctively.  “Tell you what, Varric.  We’ll talk about this at Skyhold, all right?”

She was using the placating tone that Varric had heard a thousand times in Kirkwall as she comforted widows and mothers and sons and Templars.   Varric’s scowl deepened and he shoved himself away from her.

“Fine,” he bit out, feeling relieved and betrayed all over again.

—-

The ride back to Skyhold was three days of painful silence between the two of them.  Varric’s anger should have mellowed and cooled off, but instead it distilled like a heavy whiskey, bitter and burning in the back of his mouth.  Every time he glanced at Hawke, at the distant look on her face, at the way her hips swayed with the movement of her horse, it sent a bolt of rage and need and panic through him.

He was still angry – _furious_ – about her disregard for her own life. They had survived through everything together, and now she was acting like it didn’t matter.  Like she could just throw her life away in front of him, and he’d somehow be fine with that.

Somewhere beneath the rage, Varric knew she had only done it to save everyone else.  He knew that Hawke was a grown woman who could make her own choices.  But he couldn’t make himself focus on that when he was staring at the lean curve of her spine as she rode in front of him.  The thought of how close she had come to death made Varric want to grab her and pin her in place so she could never do something that stupid again.

The urge made guilt twist in his gut.  And so did the shift of Hawke’s hips in front of him, a slow roll that he couldn’t look away from. 

It was a long ride back.

—-

They were barely through Skyhold’s gates before Varric broke off from the group and headed back to his quarters.  Within minutes, he was sitting on the edge of his bed and halfway through his second cup of wine, blissfully alone in the cozy embrace of Skyhold’s walls and the numbing buzz of alcohol in his veins.

His room was small – “A small man doesn’t need a big room,” he’d told the Inquisitor – and once he’d lit his fireplace, it warmed up quickly.  Wind howled outside, the chill of the mountain beating against his windows.  Varric sat on his bed with a cup of wine in his limp hand and watched the fire crackle.  Third cup, bottle almost empty.  They needed to make bigger bottles of wine.

It didn’t take long before there was a knock on his door.  He wasn’t surprised.  Varric stood up and let Hawke in.

Hawke strode inside without needing to be invited.  They had shared space often enough that his room was effectively hers.

“How are you holding up?” she asked as she picked up his bottle of wine and poured herself a cup.  She frowned as her cup only filled up halfway before the bottle ran dry, dripping forlornly.  Without asking, Hawke picked up a fresh bottle from the rack next to the table and opened it.

Varric grunted and leaned against the closed door, taking another sip from his drink.  “How do you think?”

_If she had died, I’d never see that stubborn little wrinkle of her nose again._

Hawke scoffed.  She lifted her full cup of wine to her lips and took a long sip, sighing heavily when she lowered it again.  “I hope you’re not waiting for me to apologize.  I’d do it again, if need be.”

The words twisted in Varric’s gut.  Instead of responding, he took another deep sip of wine.  She would, of course she would.  Hawke was never one to shy away from death if it meant saving the world.  He could just as easily lose her the next time they left Skyhold.

Bottle of wine in hand, Hawke wandered to Varric’s bed and sat down.  The wine bottle was set on the table beside his bed, dully catching the flickering light from the fireplace.  Hawke slumped, resting her elbow on her knee as she lifted her cup to her lips again.

_I could lose her, and I’d never laugh at her dumb jokes again.  I’d never see her eyes harden before a battle._

“We’re both going to die at some point, you know that.”   Hawke tipped her cup back until she drained it, lowering it with a long, tired huff.  She reached for the wine bottle to refill it.  “It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened already.”

“I know that,” Varric snapped.  He rubbed a hand over his face, his voice softer.  “ … Dammit, Hawke, I know.  That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of when the day comes.”

His head was feeling hot and fuzzy from the wine, but it wasn’t enough to take the terror away.  He couldn’t stand the thought of her gone.

_I’d never be pour her another drink.  I’d never lose another hand of Wicked Grace to her._

“I know you’ll die someday.”  Words were spilling out of him.  He couldn’t remember draining his cup, but he was staring at the crimson dregs, so he must have finished it.  “I know you tempt death too often, I know the odds of you ever going grey are slim to none.”  He stomped across the room and lifted the wine bottle, pouring himself a new cup.  He tried not to stare at Hawke where she sat on the bed, just an arm’s length away.  Real.  Solid.  Alive.  He wanted to grab and shake her just to make sure she wasn’t an illusion.  Never let her go again.

_I’d never get another firm hug from her.  I’d never watch a single bead of sweat trickle down her pale neck, slip over her collarbone and soak into the fabric of her clothes._

Hawke was looking up at him with those piercing eyes, steely and weary all at once, full of bravery and lost friends.  “Shame, too.  I’d look good in grey.”

Varric’s teeth clenched and he slammed the wine bottle down on the table.  His hands trembled.  “Hawke… ”

“I’ll put off that whole dying thing, okay?”  Hawke managed a smile.  “Just for you.”

Varric couldn’t remember moving, but suddenly he was grabbing Hawke’s shoulders.  “That wasn’t what you said in the Fade!” he shouted.  “You wanted me to leaveyou behind!  You wanted – right in front of me, Hawke!  I can’t… ”  His voice trailed off, his hands shaking on her arms.  _Real.  Solid.  Alive._ His words came out broken.  “ … I can’t lose you.”

_I’d never get to hold her close, smell her hair.  I’d never get to trail my fingers lightly down her skin._

Hawke stared at him with a tenderness he hadn’t seen before.  He could see the flush of the alcohol in her cheeks when she reached out, pressing one firm hand against his shoulder.  

“Varric, I’m sorry.”

Varric shook his head.  “Don’t, just – just don’t.  We both know you’d do it again.”

She bit her lip, fingers curling where they had been resting on his collar, tugging him gently closer.  Varric put both arms up to stop her, his palms colliding with her collarbones. She moved her fingers in response, like a machine built by an artificer specially designed to combat each one of his defensive movements.  The pads of her fingertips traced from his shoulders down to where his hands were touching her, and she held onto his wrists with soft intent. 

Varric had seen this look on her face as well, the same one she would send towards men who weren’t giving her what she wanted, the same look Isabela had given her when they had first met. 

Hawke could have had any of them.  Back in Kirkwall, Varric had seen variants of lust and love in the eyes of every one of his allies when they looked at her.  But in the end, Merrill favoured her demon-mirror above all else, Isabela her ship, Fenris his revenge, Anders the same. The only person who never let her down, who was always by her side was…

“Varric,” she whispered, pulling his thoughts from the past.  She had moved in close, too close.  He had let his guard down around her, as he always did. Their fingers were laced, pressed against Hawke’s chest, their faces close.  He could feel her breath on his lips, heavy with wine.

If he pressed his lips against hers now, he’d be able to taste the heady rush of the drink on her tongue.  

Hawke seemed to be thinking the same thing, her eyes sliding closed, her head tilting slightly to the left as she leaned in.  No.  No.  They weren’t supposed to do this.  They were _friends,_ the ones who joked and flirted and shared weary drinks after sharing blood in battle, but they didn’t, couldn’t, be anything more.  Other people were supposed to press their lips against Hawke’s, drag fingers through her hair, fall into bed with her, not Varric.  He was supposed to joke and smile and never _ever_ touch.  

Yet here he was with his hands splayed against her chest, just above the soft round swells of her breasts.  Here he was with his face inches from hers, her lips parting so a warm wine-sweetened breath fanned across his face, so different from the chilling breezes of the Fade that they had been in not three days past. 

The Fade. 

_If she’d died back there, I’d never get to kiss her._

Varric’s anger boiled again, spilling into his hands where they tightened to fists in Hawke’s shirt.  Before he could think, he shoved her down _hard_ onto the bed, on top of her before he realized it, pinning her there with weight and strength and rage.

Instead of protesting or putting a second break in his nose, Hawke just _smiled_ up at him, like she had wanted this.  Like maybe attempting to sacrifice herself was all a ruse to get Varric on top of her like this. 

“Stop it,” Varric begged softly, his hands still fisted in her shirt.  He tried to pull back, tried to crawl off the bed and go drown himself in a few more bottles of wine and forget he’d ever felt the warm, solid softness of her body underneath his, but Hawke’s hand shot out and grabbed his hair.

She stared up at him without flinching, pulling his face close.  “No.”

He was leaning over her, letting her pull him in.  “Hawke – ”

“Varric.”

His jaw set as he looked at her flushed features, each quirk and shift in her expression beckoning him, begging him. They had slept beside each other too many times to count, and Hawke had made a few drunken passes that Varric had never taken seriously – but this? This was different. This was happening, this was his best friend staring at him with the wanton desperation of a woman who wanted a man and Varric was feeling exceptionally powerless. 

And furious. 

Quick as a snake, Hawke ducked towards him, her lips almost brushing his.  Varric grabbed her hair and shoved her down hard against the bed to keep her lips away, breathing hard.  His cock was betraying him, hard and heavy in his pants, pressed against her soft, soft, hip.  

Hawke panted up at him, not even trying to remove the rough hand in her hair.  “Varric – ”

“No,” Varric interrupted.  If she said anything, asked anything, he’d probably do it.  He swore he could _smell_ her, the sweetness of an aroused woman hanging in the air as thick as the wine on their breath.  He wanted to taste it.

_I’d never get to rip her clothes off.  I’d never get to make her spine arch in pleasure, make her come under my hands._

“Varric, let me – ”

A thin, frustrated whine slipped between Varric’s teeth.  He grabbed her pants suddenly and _yanked,_ pulling the soft fabric down and revealing the pale softness of her hip, her thigh, the soft crease where they met… 

Heat flooded his chest, a simultaneous panic that he’d done something he couldn’t take back, and a smoldering need to bury himself between Hawke’s legs.  For a moment he was paralyzed, torn between diving in and fleeing the room, staring hungrily at the soft skin revealed above Hawke’s pants, just inches above the slick heat between her legs that he could damn near taste on his tongue…

And then Hawke rolled her hips up into his hand, letting out a soft moan.  And before Varric realized what he was doing, his calloused hands were ripping open the soft fabric of her pants.

Hawke was bare underneath, white skin cast into blue hues by the moonlight.  Every part of her, the smooth curves of her hips and the soft bumps of her hipbones and the pinkness that was pressed between her legs, all of it was raw and real and _perfect._ Varric was panting, his breath touching her bare skin, hot and filthy as if his hands were already on her.  He tore his gaze away from her, swallowing and praying to Andraste for Hawke to just _leave_ before they ruined their friendship with its fragile boundaries.

From the corner of his eye, Varric could see Hawke push herself up onto her arms.  _Good.  Leave.  Hit me.  Yell at me._

“Kiss me.”

Her voice was soft but insistent, and it fell on Varric like a hammer blow.  He cringed.

“ _No._ ”

“Varric… ”  It was somewhere between a whine and a command. He was helpless before her, a man in supplication to a god.

He couldn’t kiss her on the lips, it would shatter everything he had worked for.  The separation between them was so vital, so delicate, so thin at times.  Varric had seen Hawke stripping off her blood-soaked mage armor after a fight.  He’d helped her bind wounds.  He’d sat next to her in a filthy lowtown bathroom while she threw up too much alcohol.  They’d passed out on the same bed roll together, snoring drunkenly, waking up with stiff necks.

But it was all broken if they kissed.  That wasn’t being “war buddies” anymore, that was…

Her face was so pretty, so flushed, her eyes bright and soft all at once, hazy with need.  “Varric.. _.”_

He couldn’t kiss her on the lips.  But he _needed_ to touch her.  Varric ducked his head away from her gaze, scooting down the bed and pressing his lips against her hip, against soft warm skin.  Hawke let out a soft gasp, something so familiar and sexual that Varric dug his teeth in by reflex.

“Ah, _Varric_ – ”

Varric groaned in frustrated need and grabbed her hips hard, scooting down the bed and kissing along the lines of her body.  Anything to keep himself from looking at her face, from her parted and panting lips, from the sight of his _friend_ utterly lost in sexual need.

Maybe if he just pinned her here and never let her go, she’d be safe.  She wouldn’t try to leave him for some towering venomous nightmare and a cold, gory death.

The thought of that, the thought of her almost gone, kept his mouth moving, sucking hungry kisses onto her hip and thigh, leaving pink marks.  The thought that he might have never had the chance to savor her, to _have_ her, drove him on.  He could taste her on the air, feel the heat –  Varric froze, panting, his hands shaking where they grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise.  He’d already taken it too far.  He had to stop here.

“Hawke… ”  His voice came out begging.  She had to call it off here.  She had to laugh about how drunk they were, how out of hand things had gotten, joke about him being her sidekick, insult him, call him _short,_ he didn’t care.  Anything to let them drink and play cards tomorrow and pretend this never happened.

“Varric,” she said softly, and he knew that she wasn’t going to. Damn it, she wasn’t going to let him _go_. She had nearly died and now she was torturing him, forcing himself to unspool the lies he had wound around their relationship for years.

A wash of anger clouded his better judgement, and his rough hands forced her soft thighs apart.

She was perfect, sweet-smelling and damp with arousal.  If Varric was with another woman – with _his_ woman, the woman he was always loyal to – he would have savored this moment.  He would have breathed against her, kissed her thighs, teased her with his tongue before settling in.

But there was no more patience to be had with Hawke.  He had almost been too late.  Varric dove between her legs with a growl and _devoured_ her.

Hawke gasped at the first hungry swirl of tongue, shuddering against the bed and grabbing fistfuls of his sheets.  “V-Varric _yes_ – ”

Varric groaned against her, one powerful arm hiking her leg over his shoulder as he pressed his face in for _more._   She tasted like sweat and battle and camp smoke, a taste that was already familiar before his tongue even touched her.  He licked without finesse, lapping over her in hot, frantic movements that quickly turned her quiet moans to squeals.  

“Varric, oh _Maker,_ yes – ”

His blunt fingernails left crescent moon shapes against her hips, adding to the faint constellations of battle scars that crossed her skin.  He slipped his hands under her body, finding her ass, squeezing and then pulling her up against his hungry mouth.  Varric groaned against her, grinding his hips down against the bed, pressing his arousal against the mattress.

“ _V-Varric – ”_ Hawke’s hands were grabbing his hair, rough and needy, pulling him in as if he needed the encouragement.  “I-I’m not going to last – ” 

Varric groaned again and dragged his tongue up her, panting as he lifted his face up just high enough to look her in the eye.  He slipped one of his hands off her ass, teasing the calloused pad of one finger through her slickness.  

“ _Good._ ”

Hawke shuddered when his finger slipped inside her, pushing to the knuckle.  When he locked his mouth around her again and thrust slowly, pumping his finger into the tight squeeze of her body, her hands fisted in his hair and she gasped.  

“V-Varric, shit – ”

She tried to buck, tried to grind against his face and finger.  Varric growled against her and laid his free arm over her leg, splaying his hand on her hip and pinning her to the bed.  Hawke wriggled under him and whined as he pushed a second finger inside her.  

Hawke’s cries became frantic, her hands leaving his hair to clutch at the sheets.  Varric felt her _squeeze,_ felt her body clench around him tight as she screamed to the roof and came.  Varric’s strong arm pinned her bucking hips in place as he licked her through it, keeping his fingers buried deep, feeling her spasm.  When her screams of pleasure died down into panting, twitching whimpers, Varric dragged his tongue over her one more time before pulling back and looking up at her.

Hawke was breathless and flushed, her short hair a messy cloud around her face.  Her gorgeous eyes were hazy, her soft lips so pink, slick and flushed from being bitten…

Varric’s voice came out a rasp.  “Shit, Hawke.” 

Hawke licked her lips, her hand softening in his hair, stroking through it.  “Kiss me,” she breathed.

Varric winced and turned his face away.  “H-Hawke, you know I can’t.”

Hawke laughed, short and dry and breathless.  “Maker’s breath, Varric, you had your entire face in my vagina ten seconds ago.  But I’m not allowed to get a kiss?”

“Not… my _entire_ face.”  Varric huffed a laugh against the warm skin of her knee, wondering how their dynamic could all at once be the same and completely, irreversibly changed. 

“So… mouth kisses are bad, vagina kisses are good,” Hawke repeated slowly.  She sat up, her legs still spread and shameless. “Am I allowed to reciprocate?  Or is that against the rules?”

Varric couldn’t quite manage a frown as he sat up to level his eyes with hers.  Even _this_ didn’t shake her.  “Quit talking like this is some kind of game.”

“Quit making up dumb rules, then.”  Hawke pulled herself up onto her knees, leaning towards him.  “Kiss me.”

“No.”

Hawke’s hand slipped between his legs, sliding up his thigh towards the hot bulge in his pants.  Varric bit down a groan.

“Then let me get you off.”

“H-Hawke… ”

“Yes, Varric?”

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric ground out.  He let out a heavy sigh.  “ … When have I ever been able to tell you what to do?”

“Hm, good point.”  Hawke grabbed his chin and tilted it upwards for a kiss. Varric wrenched his head away, falling with a soft exhalation onto his back.  He propped himself up on his elbows so he could glare at her properly.

For just a moment, Hawke’s face fell.  “ … Fine,” she relented, “have it your way.”

For a fleeting, bizarre moment, Varric wondered if Hawke was going to bind up her torn pants and walk out of his room.  Instead, the look on her face faded and she crawled over him, straddling his legs, sliding her hand over the bulge in his pants.  Varric chewed his lip and groaned and didn’t push her off, didn’t tell her to stop.

Hawke’s eyes dropped and widened in surprise.  “D-damn Varric,” she marveled as her her hand worked him slowly through his pants.  “You’re, uh – you’re big.”

He huffed a weary laugh.  “First time I’ve heard you say that.”

“I’d heard the jokes about dwarves, but I assumed, y’know, _jokes._ ”

“Can we not get into a discussion about racial penis averages?”

Hawke snickered and gave him a hungry squeeze.  “Why, is there something more pressing on your mind?”

“Y-you’re a menace, Hawke,” Varric bit out.  He groaned as she traced her thumb from the base up to the tip, using her other arm to trail fingertips along the seam of his pants and the skin of his stomach, tugging gently downwards.  His hands shot down and grabbed her wrists, halting her.  He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t joke around with Hawke one minute and then fuck her the next, this was too weird.  He needed to _think_ , damn it, for just a _second._

Hawke slipped out of his grasp with the ease of practice, calloused hands pushing his to the bed-cover.  With his wrists pinned, she rolled her hips down against his aching cock.

“My turn,” she growled.  Her voice had the same steel she brought to the battlefield, the same steel as when she stood in the Fade facing a nightmare and growled “ _Corypheus is mine.”_

Her hands had slipped off his wrists and she was undoing his pants, quickly, as though afraid he would stop her.  Her own pants were still ripped open, her pussy soft and wet and bare to his gaze, and Varric cringed as he remembered the violence of tearing her clothes off just so he could _have_ her.

For all his protests, for all his guilt, he still _wanted_ her with the same ferocity.  He wanted to bury himself in her tight body, pound her, take her.  He wanted to _own_ her, to make her beg and make her _say_ it, so she would know she was his and she was never allowed to put herself in danger again.

“Let me,” Hawke repeated.  She was guiding his cock between her legs, he could feel slickness and heat –

Varric groaned and grabbed her hips, pulling her down onto him.  Hawke arched her back and let out a long sigh of need.

“Oh _Maker_ yes – ”

She rolled her hips down, burying him inside of her, soft – _Maker, so soft_ , so tight so wet so good.  Her name escaped on his breath, a soft prayer to the ceiling as she rode him.

“ _Hawke_ … ”

Her hands found his chest, her nails digging in, rumpling the fabric and digging in to his bare skin.  She moved on him, up and down, up and down, utter bliss in his lap.  Transfixed, Varric watched the way her legs tensed on either side of him as she moved, the way the muscles of her stomach played under the pale skin. Her shirt was in disarray around her shoulders, breasts pressed against the material lasciviously so he could see the firm outline of her nipples, the long line of her neck, her mouth open as moans spilled out.

Suddenly, even being inside her wasn’t enough.  He needed every inch of them pressed together.  Varric bucked his hips up sharply and Hawke yelped as he threw her off balance.  He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, pulling her down onto him, pounding up into her as he held her firmly in place.  Hawke braced herself on her elbows and panted, tipping her face down as if hoping to catch his lips, but Varric was the wrong height for that perfect mouth.  

But he was at the right height for something else.  Her breasts were level with his face, soft and round and hanging so close, firm nipples straining against the fabric of her shirt.  Varric leaned up and grabbed one of those soft little points in his teeth, biting her through the fabric.

Hawke let out a stuttering gasp and rolled her hips down against his thrusts.  Varric kept one firm hand on her hip, encouraging her movement as he made use of the fact that her nipples were in line with his teeth.

“V-Varric – !”  Hawke grabbed a fistful of his hair, panting as she pulled him closer.  “I – Oh Maker, Varric – ”

“ _Yes_?”  Varric ground out without taking his teeth off her.

Hawke let out a breathless laugh.  “Th-this is another joke about dwarves, you know that, right?” 

Varric pulled back, his thrusts stopping.  “Andraste’s _ass,_ Hawke – ”  He shuddered when her hips ground down, compensating for his sudden stillness.  “Ahh, sh- _shit –_ ”

“Don’t _stop.”_ Hawke’s voice was half whimper and half growl, her rough hand dragging him by his hair up against her chest.  

Varric bit her again, glaring up at her flushed face.  “Then stop distracting me.”

“Stop validating all of my dwarf jokes,” Hawke shot back, grinning breathlessly.

Varric snarled at her and flipped them suddenly, pinning Hawke to the bed without pulling out of her.  Hawke gasped at the impact and groaned as he thrust down into her.

“S-sensitive subject?” she taunted between gasping.

Varric glared at her, panting.  “H-how can you still be so _yourself_ right now?”

Hawke grabbed his hair.  “Kiss me.”

“Can’t reach,” Varric taunted, cracking a smile.  “It’s a dwarf thing.”

Hawke snickered.  Maker, she was so warm and wet and tight around his cock, how could she be all of that while still _snickering_ at him?

Varric licked his lips, suddenly breathless.  “S-say you’re mine.”

“Nnnh – ”  Hawke hooked her leg around his back, pulling him in.  “V-Varric… ”

“I don’t care if you have to lie, just say it.”  His breath was hot against her chest, his hands firm on her hips as he pinned her in place and _thrust.  “_ Say you’re mine.”

“Varric – ”  Hawke gasped, and Varric lifted his gaze just in time to see her lips form the words.  “I’m – _yours._ ”

It hit him in the gut.  Varric buried his face in Hawke’s chest to muffle his shouts as he came _hard,_ buried deep inside her.  His hips stuttered, slicking himself through the wetness, riding out each crashing wave of pleasure, fueled by the knowledge that Hawke was _here_ and _alive_ and _under him…_

The haze faded, silence falling until there was nothing but his breath against her shirt.  The sweaty press of their bodies, tangled in half-removed clothes.

He wondered if she had lied or not.

Varric swallowed and rolled off of her, collapsing onto the mattress and catching his breath.  The ceiling spun overhead.

Hawke trailed her fingers over his wrist, gripping his hand and holding on.  He let out a long breath as she tangled their fingers together.

“Hawke,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, raising their joined hands to kiss his knuckles. “I know.”

He stretched himself into a half-sitting position, leaning on his elbow as he looked down at her.  She smiled up at him, her free hand tracing over his cheek.

She moved stealthily, then, pushing forward quicker than he could stop her, pressing her lips against his.

Varric huffed out an indignant breath against her mouth, feeling as she moved against him, hand on his face digging in with intensity now, frightened that he was going to pull away.  Instead, Varric softened into it with a faint moan.  He had wanted this from the start, this more than anything.  He kissed her back sweetly, tracing his tongue against soft curve of her lips, ignoring the voice in his mind insisting that they had gone too far.

They had gone too far from the second she stepped into his life.

They pulled back, and the firelight against Hawke’s sex-flushed face was _perfect._

Varric’s voice came out strained.  “Are you going to leave me now?”

Hawke snorted.  “I’ve got no where to sleep.  Mind if I crash?”

“I meant… in the morning.”

Hawke smile didn’t fade but it softened into something sad.  She nodded and kissed his cheek.

“I need to go back to Weisshaupt, help the Wardens.” 

Varric nodded as well.  “I’ll miss you,” he said softly. 

Her smile sharpened again.  Hawke sprang up and pushed him down on his back, climbing onto his lap.  Varric cursed and glared up at her.

“ _Yes,_ Hawke?  Is there something you want?”

“You won’t miss me _yet_.”  Hawke’s cocky smile was back in full force.  “We have until sunrise, and you better make it count.” 

She leaned down to kiss him again, hungrier this time, nipping his lip and fisting a hand against his chest. He grinned into her mouth, letting out an exasperated sigh and wondering, Knight-Commanders and Nightmare Demons aside, if he was going to survive _Hawke._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm over at amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com for chats and shouting!


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